


Reflections

by holhorsinaround



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: some depictions of light violence including breaking mirrors and blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 07:58:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17341589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holhorsinaround/pseuds/holhorsinaround
Summary: Peace at a decision made through passion does not always come easy. Emotions... are hard.Takes place after the Night Warrior ritual.





	Reflections

Returning home to Jadearra's had been particularly hard on Alar for multiple reasons, and one of those was fighting the intensity of emotions as they had come in. For the last half hour, Alar had stood in front of the mirror in Jadearra’s bathroom. The first fifteen minutes had involved him washing his face, fingers pressing in against the markings across his cheeks. He almost seemed to be silently willing them away, but this proved that they were certainly there and certainly permanent.  
  
The most frustrating part about it however was that he couldn't _feel_ them. They stayed, persisting through his constant washing, but he couldn't feel any indentations against his skin.  
  
It wasn't that the marks were ugly-- nor were his eyes. But... they were a reminder. A foolish reminder of a foolish decision that _could_ have cost him his life. That could have killed him. All because of someone he put his faith in. He could have left, he reminded himself, he could have turned back around and left Darkshore...  
  
The next fifteen minutes had involved a slow back and forth, from Troll to Kaldorei and back, as if the arcane would overpower the marks and hide them. With each change, Alar’s frustration grew.  
  
As he wore himself out willing the arcane to shift back and forth, he began to glare at the mirror in front of him.  
  
The repeated words in his head-- _why won’t they disappear_ \-- became a mantra.  
  
Back and forth. _Why are they still there._  
  
Troll, to elf, to troll. _Why won’t the arcane hide them._  
  
And then a desperate plea.  
  
_Disappear!!_ Another shift. _Get off of my face!!_  
  
He forced a more powerful shift, hand on his chest as the arcane magic worked.  
  
He opened his eyes and groaned, the markings with their cracklings still visible. "Why won't they disappear!" He slammed his hand down on the sink counter top, shifting back into his Troll form. They stayed, as dark as ever.  
  
He changed appearances again, growing further and further frustrated with each failure.  
  
"Change damn it! Fucking pendant, _hide the damn markings!"_  
  
Back to elf, and he began cursing Elune Herself.  
  
"I thought you saved me! I supported you-- I aided Tyrande! I believed in you, Elune and I put my whole faith in you, so why did you curse me!"  
  
Back to Troll, the amber iris of his eyes glinting with wrath. "Damn you, Elune, damn you for ever gaining my trust!"  
  
The act was getting nowhere, and only served to further frustrate him, intense and white hot. He tried one last time, the arcane swirling about as he changed to an elf, his eyes darker than the center of a black hole. This time, his voice raised louder. "Fuck you, Elune! Why did you spare me if you were going to leave me like this!" he shouted, the words echoing around the room, bouncing off the walls and in his head.  
  
He drew his left hand back and shifted to his given form one last time, an otherworldly glint against the pitch black and amber iris. A pounding began in his head, drowning out all other sounds. He could feel his blood coursing through his body and bursting against his veins. No hesitance, his jaw clenched and he thrusted his bare fist forward into Jadearra's mirror, shattering it.  
  
Splinters exploded around him, catching in his bare arms and on his cheeks, careening past him and bouncing against the surfaces of the room. His knuckles broke through the backing and came against the stone of her wall, and pain began to blossom through each of his knuckles. As he brought his hand back, not even aware of the damage he had done, blood began pooling down his arm, dripping from his fist and fingers to the floor, coating the glass and wood.  
  
He breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling, his vision beginning to cloud over. His eyes stayed on the remaining shards of the mirror, cracked downward and reflecting one side of his face. The spikes of glass mocked him, outlining the claw marks on his cheek.  
  
He let out a loud, furious shout, an upheaval of the anger in his chest, and reached forward. Blood splattered against the sink and wall. His fingers wrapped around the wood paneling that had encased the mirror, and with another roar, he pulled the frame from the wall, the nails giving way with a defeated pop.  
  
He turned, unsteady on his feet, and hurled the frame against the opposing wall with all of the force he could manage, the wood splintering and cracking, exploding around him until it too fell to the floor.  
  
And then, the eerie silence, nothing except for his gasping breaths, before he collapsed onto the stone below him, landing amidst the shattered glass and wood. He slumped back against the sink cabinets and brought his non bloodied hand to his face, eyes closing. Minutes passed, his breathing slowing to almost nothing, his heart rate decreasing.  
  
He removed his undershirt, wrapping it about his forearm and wrist, taking care to remove shards of glass as he saw fit. They fell to the floor beside him, the blood already beginning to dry.  
  
He then began to rest, worn down to his bones and tired, no longer angry, no longer furious. Simply ashamed, defeated.

**Author's Note:**

> One more piece, written... at the end of November? Very beginning of December? of 2018. Very personal, reflective, and emotional. This piece means a lot to me out of character and in character.


End file.
